


in the right place and time

by weareonceinalifetime



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, POV Louis, excessive mentions of QASA, harry is a hipster regular, louis and liam work at starbucks, mentions of zayn/liam/perrie because i can't resist, sassy barista louis, that deserves its own real tag tbh, way too fucking many barista inside jokes i'm sorry, which is good or bad depending on what you're looking for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-15
Updated: 2014-12-15
Packaged: 2018-03-01 13:21:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2774540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weareonceinalifetime/pseuds/weareonceinalifetime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis is a barista. Harry is a regular with bad taste in clothes who really likes coconut milk dirty chais. Somehow it works.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in the right place and time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [starbuckstomlinson](https://archiveofourown.org/users/starbuckstomlinson/gifts).



> A birthday present for my love Hayley, who is twenty-four years old today! I love you to the moon and back, my dear, and I couldn't ask for a better person to go to 1D concerts with. I'm sorry in advance for all the times I'll probably hit on your little brother this year.
> 
> Featuring excessive Starbucks inside jokes, because both Hayley and I work for Starbucks, so.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Louis hisses, hopping backwards to avoid the tide of spilled vanilla bean frappuccino that’s currently sweeping across his entire cold bar. “This day just keeps getting better and better.”

As if on cue, someone snickers behind him. Louis glances back over his shoulder, ready to shoot a dirty look at the offending customer. If this is funny to them, he’d like to see them hop behind the counter and work bar during a rush, fuck you very much.

“Sorry,” the guy says, not sounding sorry at all. “Rough day?”

“No, I’m having a _blast_ ,” Louis snaps, not bothering to soften his tone. From the register, Liam shoots him a warning look, and he sighs loudly. Usually he tries to be a little nicer to the customers—hell, there are even certain regulars he totally adores, like Niall who works at the music store down the street or Leigh-Anne from the doctor’s office who always orders at least four drinks but is incredibly patient even when he knows she’s running late. But this guy? First of all, he’s never seen this guy before in his life, and second of all, this guy is _laughing at him_ and his apron is _covered_ in rapidly-melting vanilla bean frappuccino, and he is _so_ not in the mood to put up with this.

“I can tell.” The guy’s tone is easy, and so is his posture as he leans against the wall near the handoff plane, his green eyes flicking lazily over Louis. For all his relaxed body language, he’s careful not to touch the glass that Louis had painstakingly cleaned after close yesterday, so maybe he’s not as much of an asshole as he’d originally seemed.

He’s dressed like an asshole though, that much is obvious. Like, Louis can’t even see the bottom two-thirds of the guy’s body, and he can tell that his taste in clothing is completely abysmal. He probably thinks he’s some kind of individual, but he just looks ridiculous, with a headscarf tied haphazardly around his messy brown curls and an oversized shirt hanging half-buttoned from his broad shoulders, dipping low to reveal tanned, tattooed skin.

Seriously, he’s objectively really fucking attractive, but he’s also objectively really fucking terrible at dressing himself.

Probably if he just walked around naked he’d look better.

He’s too busy thinking about how much the guy’s outfit would improve if he wasn’t wearing a shirt at all to hear the question directed his way until the guy has repeated it twice and Liam is snickering from the oven, where he’s warming a sandwich for someone.

“Can you repeat that?” Louis asks, watching the whole milk he’s pouring into the cup carefully, as though he can’t remake the frappuccino in his sleep. “Didn’t hear you the first time. Demanding job, so.”

“Clearly,” the guy agrees, crossing his arms in front of him. His biceps bulge, nearly as defined as Liam’s, and Louis gulps, focusing on adding level scoops of vanilla bean powder to the concoction in the blender. Personally, he thinks the stuff is disgusting—it’s way too sweet, and the texture it adds to drinks is just bizarre, but people seem to go for it like crazy anyway. “It was nothing important.”

“All right,” Louis replies with a shrug.

For the new few minutes, he loses himself in the easy rhythm of the bar. Spilling the frappuccino had thrown him off, but he recovers quickly, always has, and Jade appears with a rag to clean up his mess, and before he knows it he’s humming to himself and swiveling his hips a little, making Liam and Jade laugh as the three of them handle the Friday lunch rush like the badasses they are.

“Iced double grande coconut milk dirty chai for Harry?” he calls out, setting the drink down on the handoff plane and rolling his eyes when he sees the guy from earlier straighten up and reach for it. “I should have known.”

“Should have known what?” The guy—Harry—asks, unwrapping a straw and carefully throwing the wrapper into the trash can.

Louis shrugs. “You just look like the kind of guy who drinks coconut milk.”

“Right.” Harry just looks at him for a moment, and then a grin spreads across his face. “Thanks for the drink. See you around, Louis.”

He pronounces it _Lewis_ , which is a thing that happens way too often when customers read his name off of his nametag, and Louis immediately wrinkles his nose, leaning over the counter to shout after him as he heads for the door. “It’s _Louis_.”

Harry turns, still moving backward through the door and coming dangerously close to running into a pair of businessmen who are probably here for their afternoon Americanos. “See you around, _Lou-ee_ ,” he calls, and then he’s gone, leaving Louis to a never-ending line of drinks on his bar and a never-ending montage of Harry’s smile and his dimples and his skintight jeans on his mind.

 

*

 

The next time he sees Harry it’s a Tuesday, midway through a hellishly boring opening shift. It’s been slow, which means mellow, which _should_ mean hanging around behind the bar goofing off, but QASA, the absolutely insane company Starbucks hires to do the health and safety inspections, is on the prowl, and that means Liam is on a deep-cleaning kick. By the time the sun finally rises (and God, he is never going to be okay with starting work two hours before the sun starts rising) Louis has already vacuumed out the display case for the refrigerated food and drinks and wiped down the pastry cart. He’s taking a well-deserved ten at a table near one of the windows, his hands wrapped carefully around a cup of tea, when Harry drops into the seat across from him, making him jump.

“Good morning?” Louis says slowly.

“Isn’t it?” Harry asks, peeling a banana with the practiced air of someone who eats a lot of bananas. Not that Louis is watching that closely.

“I wouldn’t know,” Louis tells him sulkily. “It was still dark when I got here.”

"Poor baby,” Harry teases. He reaches out to poke at Louis’s cheek, the gesture far too familiar considering they’ve only ever spoken once before and didn’t even get along very well, but somehow Louis can’t bring himself to mind. “I don’t know how you survive.”

“Superpowers, obviously,” Louis jokes. “If I wear my apron on my back, it becomes a cape.”

Harry laughs, tipping his head back and shaking with mirth like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard. “Sounds sexy.”

“Oh, it is,” Louis assures him. “I, uh, actually have to go, though. My ten is over. You can stay at the table, obviously. You’re a customer.”

“I should go too,” Harry says. “I have class in a half hour, and like, my professor is always late, but still, it’s rude for me to show up late, and the last time I was late I also spilled "Oh my God,” Louis laughs, grabbing his apron off of the table and settling it around his neck. “You can’t tell a story at all, can you?”

Harry shoots him an offended look, but there’s no actual hurt behind it, and he’s smiling when he says, “Not really. Problem?”

“It is, actually, because you’re sort of distracting me from my job.”

He’s being a little rude, or a lot rude, maybe, but something tells him Harry can take it, likes it, even, or he wouldn’t still be standing here, smiling at Louis like he’s funny instead of an asshole.

“Later,” he says quickly, tying his apron around his waist and scurrying back behind the counter, making a beeline for the bar before Liam can tell him to float instead or worse, ring.

“For sure,” Harry replies, giving him a jaunty little wave as he shoulders his backpack and heads for the door.

Louis tries not to think of it as a promise.

 

*

 

“You’re checking the door for Harry, aren’t you?” Liam asks, sidling up behind Louis where he’s drumming his fingers against one of the espresso machines and waiting for it to finish pulling shots. He jumps.

“Why the fuck would I be checking the door for Harry?” Louis says as casually as he possibly can. “It’s not like I check the door for Niall or Leigh-Anne or _Zayn and Perrie_.”

Sure enough, the mention of Liam’s boyfriend and girlfriend has him going red-faced, and Louis smirks. Only Liam could manage to seduce a pair of their regulars into a happily committed polyamorous relationship by accident and then not realize the three of them were dating until nearly a month in.

“My relationship has nothing to do with this conversation,” Liam says pointedly, clearing his throat. “This is a conversation about you and your crush on our regular.”

Louis rolls his eyes, snatching the iced latte he’s working on off of the machine and pouring cold nonfat milk into it slightly more aggressively than absolutely necessary. “What crush on what regular?"

"You and Harry,” Liam says. “Don’t try to tell me you don’t have a massive crush on him.”

“Don’t you have some work to do or something? QASA could walk in the door at any minute, and I’m sure the drains haven’t been scrubbed today.” Mentally, Louis congratulates himself. Drains are a good one. Nothing gets Liam worked up about deep-cleaning like mentioning drains.

“I’m on my lunch, actually,” Liam tells him, leaning against the bar. He’s lucky it’s slow and Louis only has a few drinks, or he’d kick Liam’s ass out of his work space, newly-promoted assistant store manager status be damned.

"And you couldn’t think of anything better to do with your lunch than interrogating me about my nonexistent crush on one of our semi-regulars?”

“Your crush is totally existent,” Liam argues, and Louis holds back a groan. Liam is like a dog with a bone once he’s stuck on an idea, and apparently he’s stuck on the idea of Harry and Louis, which—okay, Louis doesn’t even _like_ Harry half the time. They’ve had maybe three conversations, and both of those conversations were ninety percent sarcasm and four percent awkward staring and probably only about six percent actual conversing. He’s not saying there’s nothing there, but—

“Seriously, Liam, there’s nothing there.”

“Yesterday you were staring at his ass like you wanted to bite it.” Liam is smirking like he’s had the last word, and Louis nearly drops the tub of mocha he’s holding.

“We are _on the floor_ ,” he snaps, like he’s ever been concerned about cursing in front of customers before. Okay, maybe that one time when a bunch of local religious leaders were having an interfaith prayer meeting at the big table in the corner. That time, he’d been a little concerned about cursing in front of customers.

"Nobody heard,” Liam says quickly, because he really _is_ concerned about cursing in front of customers. “Come on, just admit you have a thing for him.”

“I might,” Louis says, and then he has to raise his hand to stop Liam, who already has his mouth open to let out a victory whoop. “I said _might_. As in _maybe_. As in if you tell Jesy and she starts trying to plan a wedding for a guy I haven’t even had a date with yet, I’m going to _kill you_.”

Liam holds up his hands in surrender, but he doesn’t hold back his delighted laugh. “Okay, okay, I get it. I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

Louis heaves a sigh of relief, reaching for the next cup on his bar.

“Your kids are going to be _adorable_ ,” Liam adds with a smirk, and oh God, Louis is never going to hear the end of this.

 

*

 

Louis hates register. He hates it so much.

“What do you _mean_ you don’t have turkey bacon sandwiches?” the guy he’s waiting on snaps, a vein pulsing in his forehead in a parody of sitcom anger. “There was a BOGO.”

“Exactly,” Louis says as politely as he can manage. “Usually when there’s a deal on breakfast sandwiches, they tend to sell out fast.”

The man huffs air out through his nostrils, his face growing progressively redder. “And nobody thought to order more?”

Louis doesn’t exactly have a high tolerance for assholes to begin with, and this guy is rapidly pushing his buttons. “It was a last-minute sale. We didn’t know about it until yesterday.”

“Look, I don’t need excuses for poor planning,” the asshole says, and Louis is opening his mouth to say something that will probably get him written up when another voice interrupts.

“Hey man, he said it’s not his fault,” Harry says, and only Harry could manage to sound non-threatening and utterly endearing when he’s in the midst of inserting himself into a conflict that’s not his problem at all.

Asshole puffs out his chest, which is kind of ludicrous because really, Harry couldn’t look less intimidating if he tried. “Excuse me?”

“It’s just a sandwich,” Harry says nicely. “Why don’t you get the spinach feta wrap instead? It’s really good.”

“Actually,” Louis interjects, trying and failing to sound even a little bit apologetic, “we’re out of those, too.”

“Seriously?” Asshole yelps, throwing up his hands and turning on his heel. “You just lost a customer. I guess I’ll have to go to Coffee Bean from now on.”

“Oh, no,” Louis deadpans, at the same time that Harry waves cheerfully and says, “Have a nice day!”

“So,” Harry laughs, stepping up to Louis’s register with a cheery grin, “are you having a good day?”

“I am now,” Louis tells him honestly, and he hates that it’s true but it is.

Harry’s cheeks go pink, and he runs a hand through his already-disheveled curls, ducking his head. When he looks up again, his eyes are bright, his smile wide. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Louis confirms, changing the subject quickly so he won’t say anything else embarrassing, like _your eyes are greener than my apron_ or _I want to push your stupid hair out of the way and kiss you just behind your ear_. “Getting the usual?”

“Always,” Harry replies. Louis waves away the money he offers, and then, before he can lose his nerve, he scribbles something extra on the cup and adds a smiley face before setting the cup in Jade’s queue. “Later, Louis.”

Louis smiles at him, keeping the expression soft and mischief-free for once. “Definitely.”

For a few minutes, he loses himself in the ebb and flow of customers, the pattern of writing cups and brewing coffee and warming food and repeating, over and over, that they are in fact out of breakfast sandwiches thanks to the surprise BOGO.

It’s not until he sees Harry waving at him out of the corner of his eye that he remembers what he just did.

 

*

 

“You _wrote your number on his cup_?” Jesy practically howls, her dark waves of hair bouncing as she throws her head back and laughs.

“Shut up,” Louis replies miserably, burrowing deeper into the corner of the couch and hugging a squashy throw pillow to his chest.

“I thought it was sweet,” Jade interjects, taking a sip of her Strongbow golden apple and frowning at Jesy. “Don’t make fun of him.”

“Yeah, don’t make fun of me,” Louis echoes, but Jesy is still laughing, because they’re all maybe a little tipsy.

“Has he texted you yet?” Liam asks, his voice a bit muffled. He’s squished into a giant armchair with Zayn and Perrie, and Louis can’t actually see him because he’s got Perrie sprawled in his lap and Zayn perched on the edge of the chair. Really, he’s just hoping everyone’s keeping their hands mostly to themselves over there.

“No,” Louis sighs, tugging at the fringe on the pillow. “He hasn’t come in to the store, either.”

Jesy’s face goes serious, and her tone shifts from teasing to protective in seconds. “His loss, babe. Fuck him.”

“I can’t do that if he never texts me,” Louis grumbles, and at precisely that moment, his phone lets out a loud chirp.

“No fucking way,” Perrie blurts drunkenly, slapping a hand over her mouth like the rest of them hadn’t been thinking the exact same thing.

Louis’s heart twists in his chest, and he lunges for his phone only to exhale slowly at the name on the screen. “It’s just Niall.”

Everyone groans, and Jade scoots across the couch and onto Louis’s lap before he has time to react, wrapping both arms around his neck and pressing a kiss to his temple. “I’m with Jesy. His loss.”

Louis winds an arm around her slim waist and squeezes back hard, using his other hand to take another sip of his beer. It’s no big deal. He’s dealt with worse rejections. There’s no reason why this one should be anything other than a minor setback.

 

*

 

The store is humming with energy, the line stretching almost to the door. Louis has a never-ending line of drinks on his bar, more peppermint mochas than he wants to think about and a disgusting number of frappuccinos for December because fuck southern California, so he doesn’t realize Harry is even in the store, let alone standing near the handoff plane until he hears him clear his throat loudly. He’s not even planning to look up at first, because he has zero time for customers who are impatient enough to actually clear their throats at him like they think it’ll get their beverages out faster, but something about the sound is almost apologetic, and it’s enough to catch his attention.

“Hi,” Harry says.

Briefly, Louis considers just ignoring him. It’s not like he isn’t busy as hell—he could conceivably have just not been able to hear Harry at all, given how much he has going on behind the bar right now.

But he doesn’t want to be that guy, the one who acts like an asshole just because someone he likes isn’t interested in him the same way. He can’t be that guy, not to anyone and especially not to Harry, so he clears his throat back and does his best to smile like Harry hadn’t broken his heart—which he hadn’t, obviously, because a broken heart over something as small as not getting a text would be ridiculous. His heart is whole. A little chipped, maybe, but not broken.

Hey, he has a degree in theatre arts. He’s allowed to be dramatic about these things.

"What’s up?” he asks Harry, bobbing his head in what he hopes looks like a casual gesture. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

Harry swallows, tugging a hand through his curls. “Yeah, I’ve been busy.”

_Too busy for me_ , Louis thinks, which is completely unfair and he knows it. “Places to go and people to see?”

“Something like that,” Harry agrees quietly, and he’s not looking at Louis, not smiling or even meeting his gaze, which feels like a special kind of punishment for a crime he’s not sure he even committed. “Do you, uh, have a break anytime soon?”

Louis shrugs. “I’m off at three if you don’t mind waiting.”

“Yeah,” Harry says, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth for the first time. “Yeah, I can do that.”

 

There are only about twenty minutes left in his shift, but with Harry hunched over his phone at one of the corner tables, the time seems to crawl by, and when Liam finally tells him to clock out, Louis is nearly jumping out of his skin. He quickly makes a green iced tea and then heads through the lobby toward Harry, wishing he’d brought street clothes to change into. His work khakis don’t show his ass off nearly as well as he’d like.

“For you,” he announces, practically shoving the tea at Harry. Somewhere between putting a lid on the tea and walking over to the table, he’d realized it was kind of forward to be bringing him tea, especially considering Harry had basically rejected him. Still, it wasn’t like he was going to drink it, so giving it to Harry was really his best bet.

Fortunately, Harry grins happily, accepting the drink like it’s totally normal for Louis to get off work and bring him iced tea. Maybe it could be, Louis thinks, and promptly wants to kick himself. He’s not Liam. He doesn’t need to tie himself up in knots over a regular.

“So,” Harry starts, and then he stops, darting a glance toward the bar, where Jade is practically craning her neck to watch them. “Can we maybe not do this here?”

“Do what?” Louis asks, trying not to sound annoyed. Harry is acting like they’re about to have a heart-to-heart or something, and he feels painfully out of the loop, which is probably his absolute least favorite way to feel.

“Talk?” Harry asks hopefully, and Louis’s heart melts. He likes to think that nobody could say no to Harry’s wide green eyes and gentle smile, but probably that’s just him.

“Yeah.” His voice comes out too high, so he clears his throat and tries again, his eyes meeting Harry’s when he says, “Yeah, we can do that.”

Harry grins, and Louis has to fight the urge to press his thumb into the curve of one of his dimples. “Walk with me?”

They fall into step together on their way out of the store, their shoulders bumping together every now and then, Louis working to match his shorter strides to Harry’s long ones. It feels like the beginning of something, and he wants to hate himself for being so hopeful, but he can’t help it when the sunlight is catching the sharp line of Harry’s nose and setting the edges of his curls aflame.

“I should apologize,” Harry starts, his voice low and a little rough like he hasn’t used it in a while, even though it’s barely been half a minute since he last spoke. He’s nervous, Louis realizes.

"For what?” Louis asks nonchalantly, which is sort of totally unfair, because he’s almost sure he knows exactly what Harry is trying to apologize for, but he can’t resist being just a little bit shitty, because it had been a little bit shitty for Harry not to text him if he really is interested, and maybe he should be the bigger person but that’s never really been his style.

“You gave me your number,” Harry says. “And I didn’t do anything with it.”

Louis shrugs, wishing he’d brought his sunglasses with him this morning. “It wasn’t, like, a contract.”

“I should have texted you, though.” The words are rushed, uncharacteristically fast for Harry. “I wanted to.”

“Oh?” Louis squeaks. God fucking dammit, this _hipster dork_ has him _squeaking_ , and he hates it. “Why didn’t you? Since you had my number, and all?”

Harry’s hand brushes against his, and then long fingers are wrapping around Louis’s. “I’m a chicken? And then I accidentally threw out the cup your number was on, and I was too embarrassed to like, go back into the store and ask Liam or Jade for it, so I just kind of avoided you for weeks, and I probably made you feel like I don’t like you, which isn’t true at all.”

“I, uh, like you too?” Louis says. He feels like he’s back in junior high or something, admitting to a crush, except he’s sincerely hoping that this confession leads to something more than just holding hands in the hallways for a few days.

Not that holding Harry’s hand isn’t great. He definitely wants to keep doing that too.

“Yeah?” Harry squeezes his hand harder, a smile spreading across his face. “I was going to ask if you wanted to get food or something, but I’m actually not hungry at all, so maybe we could watch a movie at mine instead? Like, if you want?”

“I want,” Louis confirms. “I definitely want.”

 

*

 

There’s a movie— _You’ve Got Mail_ , because of fucking course Harry loves _You’ve Got Mail_ —playing on the screen of Harry’s MacBook, but neither of them is paying much attention to Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan’s budding romance. Instead, Louis currently has one hand twisted in Harry’s curls and the other fisted in his absurdly silky and probably disgustingly expensive grey t-shirt, with his lips skimming along Harry’s collarbone, because the upside of his atrocious wardrobe is easy access to basically his entire chest without any effort at all.

“Louis,” Harry groans, his fingers digging hard into Louis’s hips through his work pants, which, wow, he’s making out with one of his regulars and he’s still in his work clothes and probably stinks of coffee.

Incredible.

He’s tempted to ignore Harry in favor of tracing every single one of his tattoos with his tongue, but that might be bad form, and anyway, he’s hoping there will be plenty of time for that later, so he tears his mouth away from the curve of his neck. “Yeah?”

Harry grins up at him, looking thoroughly disheveled and thoroughly gorgeous. “Wanna try something.”

In a move that seems too coordinated for someone Louis has seen literally trip over his own feet, he hooks one leg around Louis’s waist and rolls them over so that he’s on top, his hands finding the waistband of Louis’s pants and tugging impatiently at his black polo.

"Off, please,” he requests politely.

Louis is happy to oblige, and he opens his mouth to tease Harry about being unfailingly polite even during foreplay, but he’s cut off when he feels Harry’s lips moving down his stomach, Harry’s hands tugging down his pants and boxers in one go, Harry’s obscene lips closing around the head of his cock, sucking just lightly before he pulls off with an exaggerated slurp to smile merrily.

“I’ve wanted to do this since I first met you,” he confesses, his cheeks going a lovely shade of pink. Louis reaches out to skim a finger down the slope of his nose, smiling a little too fondly.

“Watching me spill a vanilla bean frappuccino everywhere made you want to suck my cock?” He asks a bit incredulously.

Harry smirks. “Maybe I really like vanilla bean frappuccinos.”

“Nobody fucking likes vanilla bean frappuccinos,” Louis grumbles. “They’re way too sweet, and the texture is fucked up because of the powder, and—“

He could go on a whole rant about how much he hates vanilla bean, honestly, but Harry’s mouth closes around him again, and suddenly Louis can’t think about anything except the heat, the way Harry swallows him down like it’s nothing and gives him a motherfucking _thumbs up sign_ as if to say he’s a fan of Louis’s dick or something.

Harry’s cheeks hollow around his cock, and he’s looking up at Louis like he wants him to do something, so Louis fists a hand in Harry’s hair, tugs a little and is rewarded with a low groan. Harry’s lips are slick with spit and pre cum, his eyes blown wide as he bobs up and down, working his tongue along the thick vein on the underside of Louis’s dick, pulling off to suck teasingly at the head, using his hand to get what he can’t fit inside his mouth.

“’M gonna come,” Louis warns, and Harry stays where he is, looks up at him expectantly, and fuck, that’s it, Louis comes with a groan, his vision going white, his hand still curled in Harry’s hair.

“Holy fucking _shit_ , man,” he whines when he’s able to speak again. “That was . . . wow.”

“Yeah?” Harry’s voice is softer, a little raw and suddenly shy, which is mildly ridiculous considering he’s just swallowed an entire load of Louis’s cum. Really, the time for embarrassment is past. With that in mind, Louis hauls him up and into a kiss, licking into his mouth and kissing him until Harry is relaxed against him, a comfortable weight.

“My turn to do you?” he suggests, smoothing a hand down Harry’s back.

Harry flushes. “I, uh, sort of already came.”

“Just from blowing me?” Louis croaks. “Oh my _God_ , Harry.”

He kisses Harry again, slower and sweeter this time.

“You know,” Harry teases, “I kind of thought you were an ass when we first met.”

Louis pulls back a little, offended. “What? Why?”

“You snapped at me.”

“I did, didn’t I?” Louis sighs. “Sorry about that. I just really hate rushes. And customers. And I thought your outfit was stupid.”

“Rude,” Harry tells him, but he’s laughing into Louis’s neck, and there’s come drying between them and in the background Meg Ryan is telling Tom Hanks how badly she wanted it to be him, and Louis can’t remember the last time he was this happy.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed! You can find me on Tumblr at liuhmpaynes :)


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